


A Sorta Fairytale

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-11
Updated: 2004-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm





	A Sorta Fairytale

_On my way up north  
Up on the ventura  
I pulled back the hood  
And I was talking to you  
And I knew then it would be  
A life long thing  
But I didn't know that we  
We could break a silver lining  
[ A sorta fairytale ]  
With you_

 

[1.]  
The RV is hot. The couch is hot. Dave is hot. He stares up at the ceiling, trying to imagine things that are less...hot. Snow ice. The Alps. Freezer chilled coke, sliding down his throat.

Chester says, "You all right there, Dave?" Dave looks at Chester. Chester doesn't look hot.

Chester never looks hot.

"I'm fine," Dave says, and doesn't glare. Chester just grins.

And then Brad is there, pushing Chester face down on the bunk with one knee, expertly applied to back. He leans over and presses his lips to the nape of Chester's neck, whispering something soft and low. Chester laughs.

Dave blinks, slowly.

This isn't helping. He forces himself to move, get off the couch to go to the front of the RV.

Brad turns his head as Dave passes by, smiles brightly at him. His mouth is pink and wet, and his cheeks are flushed.

"Dave," he drawls softly, and Dave stops, but then Chester shifts and Brad's eyelashes flutter down and his face turns slack. Dave just watches him, and wishes for something cold.

 

[2.]  
Joe piles junk food into his basket. Chips and ho-hos and packets of cherry-flavored gum. He stops at the drink section"tries not to smile at Dave with his head almost stuck inside the wide open chiller door.

"You're going to buy something or what?"

Dave shakes his head. "No, I just want some cool air. It's too hot."

"Word." Joe walks over to Dave and reaches past him to grab for a six-pack of beer.

Dave's hair is plastered to his head, black and wet.

Joe cocks his head. "When did you do that to your hair?"

"What? Oh." Dave ducks his head and flushes slightly. This close, Joe always has to resist the urge to reach out and touch Dave's freckles, pale and dusted across his cheeks.

"It's just. I got tired of the red."

"I like it," Joe says, and it's not exactly a lie.

"We should get back to the RV. I think they'll be refueled by now."

"Yeah, or maybe we could just stand here and not be hot for a while." Dave moves closer to the chiller and sighs contentedly. "Air-conditioning that works, man I never thought that that'd ever be my greatest wish."

"You okay, Dave?" Dave is never good at hiding his feelings.

Dave just closes his eyes and rubs at the back of his neck, leaving white marks where his fingers press down. "I'm fine," he says tiredly. "Just hot is all."

"Sure, yeah. Me too." Joe bites his lip and turns to go. Dave's never been good at lying, either.

 

[3.]  
They play chess and Dave sucks, but Brad's fingers are long and white and they move across the board like poetry. His nails are a shiny metallic black, newly done. Dave pictures Chester suddenly, head bent in concentration as he painted and Brad watching him lazily, eyes half-lidded and amused.

He wants to ask Brad questions, like when and why, but Brad doesn't talk about anything he doesn't want to talk about, and he obviously doesn't feel the need to mention it, even in passing.

He focuses on the board instead, willing the black and white pieces not to swim in front of him. "Checkmate," Brad says triumphantly, and his voice sparkles.

Dave concedes defeat and wonders why he never noticed that Brad has whisker burns across his cheeks and fading marks on his neck that have to be hickeys.

"You want to go again?"

"No, I think I've lost enough for one day, thanks."

Brad snickers. "Come on, man. Last round. Try to pay attention this time, you'd be surprised how much that helps."

"Sure, okay." Dave reaches out and starts rearranging the pieces back to their original positions.

 

[4.]  
The pub is noisy and filled with people celebrating some football game or another, but it's the closest to the motel and no one had wanted to watch a movie so there they were.

Joe eats buffalo wings as Mike pours out shots of whiskey into the glasses. More than half the liquid ends up on the table instead, and finally Joe grabs the bottle from him.

"Hey," Mike protests halfheartedly, but his face is red and his hands are shaking, and Joe knows he'll be passed out on the floor in half an hour. Mike doesn't hold his alcohol well.

Chester claps Joe on the shoulder and yells into his ear, "Brad and me are going out for a while. Be back, okay?"

Joe nods his head and pours himself another drink. He watches Chester walk out the back, Brad trailing not far behind. Chester got a Mohawk recently, and the bright red spikes catch the light like fire. When they're gone, he turns back and Dave is staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing." Dave shakes his head and scowls.

Rob mutters, "They should just get a room," and Joe laughs, even though it's not funny.

"They already have a room," he says. "They just have to share it with one of us."

 

[5.]  
No one speaks on the way to the hospital.

Rob is the only one sober enough to drive, but he's not that sober and Dave can't help noticing that his hands are clenched tight on the steering wheel but the van still weaves in and out of the lane. Fortunately there isn't much traffic at three am.

"How is he," Mike asks, turning his head to look in the back.

Dave shrugs and bites his lip to not say: "Bleeding all over the rented leather seats." The streetlights are far apart, and Dave is grateful because every time they pass one he can see Chester's blood, glistening dark red, everywhere.

Brad whispers, "He's fine, he's just fine."

He's cradling Chester's head in his lap and he might be crying, but Dave doesn't know for sure. He wants to hold Brad's hand, but the one that isn't pressed over the wound is clenched tightly in Chester's.

"Rob, can't you drive faster?" Joe snaps. He's sitting next to Mike, but he hasn't turned around once.

"I'm doing the best I can. You want to drive?"

Joe shakes his head.

The emergency room doctors seem to know what they're doing, but Joe wonders at first because they try to examine Brad too, initially.

Only later, when they're all in the waiting room, Joe realizes that that's probably because there's so much of Chester's blood on Brad.

"You should go and wash yourself up."

Brad shakes his head and sits down instead. Drying blood is black on his hands. It looks like mud. Dave passes him a cup of coffee, and he whispers something in Brad's ear that makes his face crumple, momentarily, before smoothing out once again.

Maybe he needs medical attention after all.

 

[6.]  
Dave follows the signs down to the hospital gift shop. Mostly just to get some air, at least for a while. Dying flowers made into lovely bouquets and brightly colored balloons and cute stuffed toys. He wanders aimlessly before discovering that they also have a small collection of clothing.

The dark grey sweatsuit and black t-shirt he grabs makes him pause when he looks at the price-tag, but they're the only ones there that look marginally suitable.

When he holds the clothes out to Brad, Brad doesn't react at all.

In the end, Dave grabs him by one arm and pulls him up.

He doesn't resist, just follows him silently to the toilets. There's a shower there, and Dave wets tissue paper and wipes blood off Brad's face and hands. Ghostly pale under all that caked-up black, he might not have been there at all. When he tries to remove Brad's hoodie Brad looks confused for a moment, but then he waves Dave away with a mumbled "I can do this myself."

Dave waits outside until he comes out, and the sweatsuit is too big, but it'll have to do. Dave always forgets how small Brad is.

 

[7.]  
The two detectives are very polite. No one had called the police, but Joe figured that the hospital had done so, once they knew that it was a stabbing.

They keep asking him the same questions, and he keeps giving them the same answers.

"Tell us what happened in that alley."

"I went to find them, because it was late and we all wanted to go back to the motel. When I entered the alley Chester was on the ground and Brad was holding on to him."

"You didn't see anyone else?"

"No."

"Did you see the weapon?"

"No."

"What happened after that?"

"I ran over, and I helped Brad to the car. Then I went back and got the rest of the guys. Then we drove here."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"I don't know. It was. The hospital, we passed by it on the way here. It seemed easier to just drive there."

"And you didn't see anyone else in the alley?"

"No. I already told y- No."

"What did Mr. Delson say about what happened?"

"Why don't you ask him that?"

"Mr. Hahn..."

"He said a couple of guys jumped them and tried to rob them, and then they stabbed Chester."

"That's all he said?"

"I don't think. He was kinda upset, you know? He kept screaming for us to get help for Chester, and then once we got into the car he stopped talking. Can I go now?"

"Just a few more questions, Mr. Hahn."

"Okay."

They talk to everyone, and then afterwards they hand Joe a card and ask him to call them if he remembers anything else. Joe almost throws it away, but he slips it into his wallet instead.

They tell Mike that none of them are allowed to leave the city, and Mike snaps, "Where are we going to go without our lead singer."

Joe walks over to Brad. "What did they ask you?"

"Stupid shit. They want me to come down to the station house later. Assholes." He waves his arms around angrily, and the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt fall down past his hands. Joe doesn't remember him changing, or where he'd gotten the clothes from. He's glad though, that Brad's no longer covered in blood.

"I'm sorry," Joe says. He doesn't ask Brad what happened.

 

[8.]  
Chester's father has been crying. His face is red and splotchy, but when he speaks to the doctor his voice is clear, strong. Mike goes up to him and they hug, briefly. Two hours on a plane, he'd been lucky to catch a flight direct from Phoenix that was leaving almost as soon as he arrived at the airport.

Mike had made the arrangements. Called Lee, called the airlines to book the tickets. They probably couldn't afford it, but that would have to be dealt with later.

Dave leans against one puke-green shaded wall and tries to find a place to put his arms. He finally settles on sliding his hands deep into his pockets. Nonchalant like. He should go back to the motel, Joe and Rob already left, but Brad refused to go.

Brad's clothes are in a paper bag at Dave's feet, and Dave isn't sure what he should do with them. The police are gone, so Dave can't pass the bag to them, and anyway if they'd wanted it they'd have asked.

Lee asks, "But what was he doing in that alley in the first place?"

"Fresh air, I think. The place was pretty crowded."

"It's a good thing then, that Brad was there with him."

"Yeah, yeah it was." Mike doesn't waver, and Dave, sometimes, is afraid of him. He has to wonder though, that Chester's father doesn't know about his own son.

 

[9.]  
The water is ice cold, and when it swirls down into the drain it's streaked with pale stripes of red. Joe hadn't realized that he'd gotten some of Chester's blood on him. He stays in the shower for half and hour, and when he comes out the skin on his fingers are watery and prunish.

Rob sits on the bed, legs crossed and head bent down. "Mike called," he says.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They said that Chester's going to be okay. He didn't - there was no damage to his major organs, so he's going to be fine."

"Oh. That's good." It's freezing cold in the room. It should be hot. Joe shivers and hugs himself. He goes to put on another sweater, but he can't find his own and in the end he pulls Mike's black hoodie over his head. Rob doesn't say anything, and Joe doesn't hear him move but when he glances at the bed later, it's empty and he can hear the shower running.

He crawls into the other bed, and when he finally falls asleep he doesn't dream.

 

[10.]  
Dave drives Brad over to the police station. Brand new rental, Mike said the agency had been very reasonable, but he snorted in disgust after he said that, so Dave switched the subject. Mike got snippy over money.

Brad slumps in the front passenger seat, hat pulled low on his face and hood up. Dave can't see his face, but he doesn't need to.

"Do you want to stop somewhere for breakfast first? I'm hungry."

"No. I just want to fucking get this over with."

"Okay." Brad's silence is disconcerting. Dave is used to hyperactive chatter and cheerful, pointless rambling about nothing in particular. Then again, none of them feel like themselves anymore.

There's a diner across from the station, and after Dave drops Brad off he goes over and orders pancakes and coffee that might have been good if he could taste anything stronger than the bile at the back of his throat.

He's almost done by the time he spots Brad coming out, so he just throws money on the table and slow jogs across the empty street.

"How'd it go?"

Brad shrugs. "Fine. I want to go back to the hospital."

"All right."

 

[11.]  
"Why the fuck did you call him?" Chester's face is a pale sheen of green and almost painfully fragile, but getting stabbed doesn't seem to have affected his vocal chords at all. "Well?"

Joe shrugs. "Um, Mike called him, not me?"

"Same difference. Fuck you both, man." He sinks back into the pillows and glowers.

"We thought. You were stabbed. Most people want their parents around when they get - why would you not?" Joe stands by the hospital bed awkwardly, not sure what they'd done wrong.

"Because I'm not most people. And it's none of your fucking business. Just." He waves one arm weakly and turns his head away. "Fuck off, Hahn."

"Okay." Joe looks at Rob, standing silently next to him. Rob just shrugs. No one really understands Chester. Probably not even Brad. They'd spent days deciding just how exactly Chester would fit in with the rest of the band, before concluding that he wouldn't, and they'd just have to work around it somehow. Joe never pictured it quite like this, though.

At the door, Chester says, "Hey, Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I still in the band?"

Joe frowns slightly. "Why would you not be?"

Chester laughs softly and the corner of his mouth curls up, but he only says, "Nothing. Forget about it."

Joe lets the door swing shut behind him and raises his eyebrows at Rob, who just leans heavily against a wall and wipes his eyes wearily. "I'm so tired. I feel like I want to sleep forever, like I haven't slept in years."

"Yeah, I get that too," Joe says. His bones feel sluggish and heavy, as if he's trying to walk underwater, and he keeps picturing the car-ride to the hospital, how the air was so thick with blood he could almost taste it, coppery and heat-slick on his tongue. He swallows, and has to grit his teeth. "Come on, I need to eat something."

"The cafeteria food sucks," Rob scowls fiercely, and Joe wants to hug him, suddenly. He grins instead, and slides one arm around his shoulders.

"Come on, we'll go out. Grab some burgers and fries instead."

 

[12.]  
Mike says, "The police called. They said it's okay for us to leave as long as we're contactable. The guy didn't say anything, but I'm thinking that he figures there's no way they're going to catch the guys so we might as well move on."

"Well, that's reassuring." Joe blinks slowly.

"Yeah, well. I talked to Chaz, and he said he couldn't remember anything, and he told them as much, so…"

"What about Brad?"

Mike shrugs vaguely. "Brad. Same as Chaz. Too freaked out."

"Too drunk."

"There's that too."

"Yeah, okay," Joe says. He turns away as Mike gets on his cell to make another phone call. There's an unopened bottle of beer on the side table. Joe grabs it and leaves the room.

The air outside is not much better. Joe breathes in deep and almost chokes. The beer is lukewarm and too mild, but it washes away the taste of ashes in his mouth. Industrial town, in the distance he can see black plumes of smoke rising from a monstrosity of a factory. Joe leans against the railing and stands there, watching, until Rob comes up and wraps his arms around him from behind.

"What are you looking at," he says, burying his face in Joe's shoulder so the words come out muffled and indistinct.

"Nothing. Just. Nothing. Come on, let's go in."

 

[13.]  
Dave had known that Chester wouldn't make a good patient. He can't stand being cooped up, and he complains endlessly about the food. Brad sneaks in cheeseburgers and feeds him french fries when Lee isn't around.

"Do you want to see my scar?" he asks cheerfully the first time Dave comes to see him.

"No," Dave says.

"It's pretty gross. Come on, you sure you don't want to see it?" His smile is bright, but his face is paper white and his body has lost whatever little fat it had to begin with. Dave doesn't think he could stand up without keeling over.

"Sure, okay." It's easier than arguing. Chester never gives up.

The wound looks like a centipede had buried itself in Chester's side, bursting blood vessels along the flesh as it dug itself in. Dave stares and tries not to throw up. He succeeds, but barely.

 

[14.]  
Chester gets a warm goodbye from the nurses when they discharge him, one of whom goes so far as to lay a wet kiss on his cheek. Joe thinks that maybe they're just glad to get rid of him, but from the way that Chester's grinning and joking around with them, maybe he just behaves differently around people he doesn't know well.

By the time they finally get back to the motel, it's dark. Lee has taken the room next to theirs, which wasn't exactly hard to get since the motel is almost deserted.

Everyone is exhausted, but Chester goes, "Come on, guys. I've been cooped up in that hospital for ages. The last thing I want to do is sleep," so they all pile into Chester's room to talk.

Lee tells stories about Chester when he was young, and Joe listens until he notices Chester's face, drawn and tight with something that's close to fury. Then Mike, sitting next to him, leaning over and whispering something in his ear that makes him smile, ever so slightly.

Joe looks at Brad next, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and shoulders drawn tight, and Dave, watching Brad watching Chester.

He turns away from them all and puts one arm around Rob instead. Rob grins and scoots closer.

 

[15.]  
Brad doesn't want to go see Lee off, and no one asks him again. Dave almost follows everyone, but he doesn't want to leave Brad alone.

Mike's eyes narrow and he seems ready to protest, but then he shrugs and lets Dave say goodbye.

"You take care of my boy, okay?" Lee says, and Dave marvels at how strong and burly he is compared to his son, and tries not to wince when Lee shakes his hand.

"I promise," he says solemnly, and lying easily is the one thing that he never thought he'd learn from Mike.

Brad hugs him goodbye next, fiercely and for too long, but his eyes are black empty and his gaze never quite meets anyone's.

When he's gone, Brad collapses on the bed clutching a magazine and Dave putters around the bathroom for ten minutes before venturing out to sit down next to him.

"There are other beds, Dave," Brad snaps. "Or the other room."

Dave doesn't move. Neither does Brad, and eventually Brad sighs and lowers his magazine. "What?"

"Nothing," Dave replies. He picks at the threads on the cheap cotton sheets provided by the hotel. "Nothing."

"You sure?" Brad's hand is on his chin suddenly, and forcing him to look up. His eyes are still black as coal only now they're hungry, and there's really nothing for Dave to do except to open his mouth and accept the kiss. Brad tastes like cinnamon and thyme and blood that Dave knows is Chester's, until sharp teeth bite down and the blood becomes his own.

"Don't." He's almost sure he says that, when Brad shoves him down onto his back. Almost, and he's unsure, but he's hard and he's aching and helping Brad to tug off his sweatpants. His knees, pushed apart by rough hands, and it hurts and Dave tries to arch back against the headboard but Brad presses his arms down, strong fingers bruising on his skin.

"Come on, Dave," Brad whispers. "Come on." His eyes are squeezed tight and sweat beads down his forehead in tiny rivulets.

Dave breathes in sharply and tries to steady his shaking. "Just…slowly, okay." Because everything hurts and "Arrgh…" when Brad starts to move. "Oh god, Brad. Please. Please." Whimpering, and holding on and barely holding on, red spots form and scatter behind his eyes and Brad doesn't stop shoving so deep, but then his hand is around Dave's dick and jerking furiously and Dave bites his lip to keep from yelling at Brad to stop or to go on he doesn't know and he's teetering and stumbling on that edge until he comes, hard and fast and almost painfully intense.

 

[16.]  
Everyone is silent on the way to the airport except for Chester and Lee. They look like father and son, although Chester is so fragile now Lee could probably break him with one hand. Joe ignores them as they make friendly conversation about nothing in particular.

He wants to talk to Rob, but somehow Rob ended up on the other side of the two Benningtons, and Joe can only look at him above their heads. Rob keeps smiling at him, his grin wide and easy. In front of Rob, Mike's fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel and his head is bops slightly to some invisible beat.

They make it just in time for final boarding call, and when Lee waves and starts walking into the departure area Joe almost calls him back, to tell him to stay with his son, or better yet, take him back to Phoenix. He can't imagine why though, and his head hurts by the time they return back to the motel.

Dave stumbles out just as Joe is going in. His lips are swollen and everywhere else that isn't covered by clothes is dusted with dark angry bruises. Dave just shakes his head at Mike's questioning gaze, and Joe glances up just in time to see Chester's face turn closed and black.

By the time Brad shows up at the door, leaning languidly against the frame, Dave is gone. Disappeared up the road towards. Somewhere. Joe considers, but his head hurts too much so he goes into the other room instead, following Mike and dragging Rob in with him.

They all wait for the blowout, but it never comes. Joe thinks maybe Chester just doesn't care enough.

 

_And I ride along side  
And I rode along side  
You then  
And I rode along side  
Till you lost me there  
In the open road  
And I rode along side  
Till the honey spread  
Itself so thin  
For me to break your bread  
For me to take your word  
I had to steal it_

 

[17.]  
Joe had had vague ideas of what being on tour would be like. Too many years, watching MTV and behind the scenes and hearing, stories. Hollywood didn't help, either. When he was drawing covers for movie posters, he sometimes got invited to parties that always lived up to their reputations.

But the parties were never his, and the tour is. Responsibility changes a lot. Having no money to speak of changes a lot. But they didn't get rejected by every record label known to man to give up so easily. Joe knows how to deal with the stress of almost all the shit that gets piled on him on a regular basis.

He doesn't know how to deal with this.

Brad says, "We shouldn't have to live in fear."

Joe agrees, but he doesn't think that buying a gun will solve anything. "We're far away from that town as it is. Next time, try not to go into dark alleys and you might just not get into trouble."

"What if they come back?" Brad is adamant, scowling.

"What do you mean come back? For what?"

"I don't know. Who knows what they're capable of. They stabbed Chester and they took our stuff, maybe they could want more."

"As if they know where we are in the first place. Brad, you're acting insane."

"Fuck you! You don't know jack shit. You don't know what it's like. One second we were - and then they just." His voice breaks, and for a moment Joe thinks that Brad is going to fall apart right then and there, but he doesn't, he just crosses his arms and glares threateningly at Joe.

Joe says, "I know what happened, Brad. I know. I was there."

"No, no you weren't."

 

[18.]  
Dave follows Brad to buy the gun. They're in a different town now so he doesn't quite see the point, but Brad insists. He wants to talk to Mike, but Mike is too busy with rescheduling the rest of the tour and making arrangements for the band to somehow fix the unexpected circumstances of their lead singer getting stabbed in the gut.

"Where are we going?" he asks as Brad turns the car into a street that Dave is sure exists in every city and is equally sure they're not supposed to drive past without an armored vehicle.

"To buy a gun," Brad's answer is curt, and his mouth is pressed into a thin, tense line. Dave opens his mouth to tell him that they should get out of here before someone else gets hurt, but then he closes it again and looks out the window instead. A man on the sidewalk holds up something as they pass by, and from the way it reflects the light Dave is certain that it's some kind of knife. But then again, it could just as easily be a bottle.

When Brad pulls up in front of what seems to be a very run-down and heavily gated arms shop, Dave's relieved at first. At least it's not the back of some van. But when Brad gets out of the car with a short, "Stay here," and disappears inside the metal gate for over an hour, Dave starts to worry. The sun is setting, and the vampires here maybe human but they're still fearless at night and they can still kill you, easily.

Finally, Brad emerges from the shop, clutching a brown paper bag and looking grim. Brad always looks grim nowadays. He slides in and drives away without a word, paper bag tucked carefully into the dashboard. Dave's throat is parched and dry, and when he opens his mouth to speak all that comes out is hot, acrid air that tastes like fear.

Mike is waiting when they get back to the motel, but not for them. "Have you seen Rob?" Dave shakes his head no.

Brad is uninterested. He slams the room door behind him, and Mike frowns. "What is up with him again?"

"Stuff," Dave says awkwardly. He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels. "Why are you looking for Rob?"

"I don't - it's not important. Brad?" He looks worried, finally, but Dave doesn't have anything to say now. He keeps seeing that brown paper bag in Brad's hand, and wonders what it looks like. If Brad would ever use it. If it would hurt, if he got shot. A bullet in his chest, blood splattering everywhere like Chester's, only this would be permanent because his heart would explode.

"What?" Mike has been speaking, but Dave can't hear for the buzzing in his ears. Everything is shiny and bright hard, and Mike's red hair looks exactly like Chester's. " What?" he says again, more to clear his head than anything else, but he can't even hear himself speak.

Mike's hand is cool and dry on Dave's forehead, and he can see his lips forming words that make no sense at all. "I'm sorry," Dave says.

He throws up all over Mike's shoes.

 

[19.]  
There's a forest behind the motel. It's red and gold and lush and totally out of place in this wasteland of a town that they're stuck in, one that's exactly like the one they left behind. Industrial-goth punks and headbangers sneered at them when they'd performed the night before. Chester's first performance after the incidence, and he'd done pretty well, considering. Not good enough for that crowd. Joe had been briefly discombobulated, thrown back into teenage-hood and lousy gigs in hostile clubs.

It's the same way now. He half expects Bambi to show up as he passes by a stream of gently bubbling water. On closer inspection the stream looks polluted, but he gets a Bambi anyway in the form of Rob. Rob's eyes are wide and clear and the color on his cheeks is high enough to be red. He smiles, and he just might be sunburnt, but Joe doesn't care.

"Hey," Rob says, and Joe kisses him. Rob starts and almost pulls away, but Joe holds on tight and eventually they both fall to the ground. The scent of rich earth is heady and Joe digs deep into the soil with his fingers and then he sinks deep into Rob and everything else is crowded out by Rob's skin and Rob's long legs wrapped around his waist and Rob's hands, pressed against the hollow of Joe's neck and so hot it burns.

Afterwards, Joe picks leaves out of Rob's hair and he laughs and it feels so good after so long of all the bad. Rob frowns for some reason, and Joe kisses him on the forehead to smooth away the lines before getting up and leading them both back towards the motel.

 

[20.]  
Chester's smoking. A cloud of grey around his head, framing white-blonde curls. They're sitting on the front steps leading to the motel rooms.

His labret reflects light each time he raises his cigarette to his lips, scattering rainbow fragments everywhere. Dave stares, and Chester smiles.

"You want?" He holds out his hand. Dave shakes his head, but then he reaches out and takes the cigarette from Chester. It burns down his throat, and he chokes and coughs up black smoke. "Fuck," he sputters.

Chester laughs. "You're doing it wrong. See, you gotta," he leans forward and takes the cigarette from Dave's hand. "Breathe in deep, so it goes down into your lungs. Else it's wasted."

"Naw, I think I'll pass, thanks."

Chester shrugs and takes another deep draw before dropping the cigarette and putting it out under his boot. They sit there in silence for a while, before Chester asks, apropos of nothing, "Do you believe in fate."

"What do you mean fate?"

"Fate. You know, fate. Like the future has already been mapped out somewhere and we're only following the path set by it."

"I don't know – no? I always thought we made our own future."

"Yeah, I guess you would think that." "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just that…" Chester looks away, and when starts speaking again his voice is pale and distant. "When I was lying there, in that alley. I thought I was going to die. And I thought. There's this life, that I was supposed to have. A woman I'd fall in love with. Marry. Maybe we'd have a couple of kids. A real family. Then I woke up in the hospital, and I was alone again."

"You still have time, you know. If you want to get married or have a family."

Chester shakes his head. "But that's just it. I don't. It wasn't a dream or something. It was like. I don't know exactly, but it's too late for that now."

"You're not alone, Chaz. You have us. You have…Brad."

"Yeah, I guess I do." He leans forward suddenly, and his hand on the side of Dave's face is hot and rough, calluses rough like sand as his fingers trail down softly. Dave shudders, but he doesn't move away. "Do you love him," Chester asks, and the question is not all that unexpected but Dave still flinches.

"I don't know," he says, surprised that the answer is true. He doesn't know anymore.

Chester nods his head sharply. "I'm sorry, you know."

"For what?"

"Everything. Nothing. For being who I am."

"You shouldn't have to apologize for being who you are, Chaz."

"Yeah, you do. Sometimes, you do. You should…it's hard when you can't be what someone wants you to be" he stops, then shakes his head wearily. "You should go back in the room."

"He should treat you better."

"No, not really. He's a good person. He just." And then he shrugs, and Dave doesn't have anything left to say.

 

[21.]  
Brad is strumming his guitar on the bed when Joe finds him. His fingernails are not painted and Joe can't stop staring at them. Brad's fingernails are never unpainted. Or they stopped being so recently, when. When. "Can we talk," he says, unsure whether to sit down or not. His hands feel strange and unwieldy, so he puts them in his pocket.

"Sure, why not." Brad doesn't look up from his guitar, and Joe is suddenly irritated.

"Look, Brad. You need to stop this. "

"Stop what?"

"This. The way you're behaving." He decides to sit, finally, on the edge of the bed, and Brad glances up at him, eyes flat and uninterested.

"What way am I behaving," Brad says, tone as flat as his eyes.

"This. You. With Chester. With Dave."

"What about them? No, don't answer that. It's none of your business, Joe."

"Of course it is. Everything about the band is my business. It used to be your business too, remember?"

Brad laughs, but it's more a bark than anything else. "So you and Rob, is that my business too? Or are you just jealous because of Dave?"

Joe stares at him. "I remember you being a nice guy, Brad. What happened?"

"Things change. Shit happens." Brad narrows his eyes, and then he shrugs and goes back to his guitar.

 

[22.]  
They used to go to the movies, whenever they had time to spare. Brad liked old cult favorites and kung-fu movies, although most of the time they just watched whatever was showing. They'd sit in the back, and if the movie sucked they'd throw popcorn at the screen. Good thing the theatre was usually empty so no one was around to see them act like teenagers.

Dave misses that, sometimes. Back when they were friends. They're not friends now. He's not sure what they are.

Brad drags him away, his fingers cold and clamped around Dave's wrist, to somewhere private. The back of buildings. Bathrooms. They don't go into alleys.

Everything about Brad is sharp and hard, and when they fuck Dave keeps his eyes open and he doesn't recognize the person breathing down on him.

 

_Find a little in you find a little  
In me we may be  
On this road but  
We're just  
Imposters  
In this country you know  
So we go along and we said  
We'd fake it_

 

[23.]  
The gun is a nine millimeter apparently, and Dave doesn't know where the serial numbers are but he can bet that they'll be filed off or rubbed off or whatever one does to make guns unidentifiable. Or their owners unidentifiable, but no way Brad registered for this gun in the first place.

Brad hands it to him almost reverently, and Dave regrets asking to see it. But it's hard and cool and aloofly beautiful, and he finds himself reluctant to hand it back. "Where do you keep it?" Brad shakes his head and grins. He's lost weight too, and Dave can see the shape of his skull behind white skin. He holds out his hand for the gun, and Dave realizes why he doesn't want to give the gun back. It feels good, cradled in his hands. It feels like power.

He leans back against the bed when Brad presses the muzzle to his chest, right over his heart. "Are you going to shoot me, Brad?" Dave asks lazily, surprised that he's not scared.

Brad laughs, and threads his other hand inside Dave's hair. "I might." He pulls Dave's head forward, his hand tightening painfully and the gun still hard against Dave's ribcage. It'll ache, tomorrow, but then Brad kisses him and Dave forgets about bruising and he forgets about the gun until Brad moves away slightly and whispers, "Bang."

The gun goes click.

"That's not funny, Brad." Dave stares down at the gun, Brad's hand still wrapped around it. He almost can't believe that Brad just carelessly squeezed the trigger like that, but then again he could say the same thing about Brad even owning a gun in the first place. People like them don't own guns. They go surfing and join bands and tell themselves that they're living an 'alternative lifestyle', but in reality they're just a few years and a couple of million dollars away from SUVs and perfect button cute children. Picket fences with edge. Dave shakes his head and pulls at the gun until he gets Brad to release it, the metal slick and warm in his hands. It doesn't feel like power anymore. It feels like death.

Brad just rocks back on his heels and shrugs easily. "I knew it was unloaded."

"It's still not funny. It might have been. You might have forgotten." He's angry now, but the anger is welcome after the fear. His voice rises, and he doesn't care. "You might have kil-"

"Shut up," Brad snarls. "Just. Shut up." He doesn't wait, just swoops in for a hard, hot kiss that mashes Dave's lips against his teeth and leaves him gasping for breath. Dave shuts up.

 

[24.]  
Rob stops talking to him, and Joe doesn't know why. Every time he attempts to strike up a conversation Rob mumbles something incoherent and runs off like a deer startled by loud noise. It makes Joe frustrated. He wants to break something, but they can't really afford to have broken anything. He asks Mike once, casually over dinner, just to find out if Mike knows anything, and receives a blunt, "Leave the poor kid alone, Joe."

"He's not a kid," Joe mutters.

"He's young enough." Which is true, and Joe feels a flush of what just might be guilt.

All he wants is to talk though, and he finally corners Rob after a show in what passes for the green room here. Rob scowls when Joe locks the door behind him and tries to push past. " Fuck off, Hahn. Leave me alone."

"So it's Hahn now? I thought we were friends?" Joe tries to keep his voice calm, but he's losing his temper too fast.

"No we're not. You're an asshole, and I don't want to be friends with an asshole. So just let me out and we'll pretend we never had this conversation."

"I don't understand. I thought that we. Rob." He places his hands on Rob's shoulders, and Rob stills and narrows his eyes, but he doesn't move away.

When he speaks, it's so low that Joe has to lean forward to hear him. "I just don't like to be used, man."

"Using wha- I wasn't." Joe's a good liar, but he's not that good. Or that willing, not to someone that doesn't deserve it. He has to clear his throat before speaking again, but he still sounds heavy and wrong. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"Everyone always says they're sorry. It doesn't mean anything. Just leave me alone from now on."

Joe lets him go.

 

[25.]  
Brad never brings the gun out again, and Dave doesn't dare ask. They fuck, whenever Chester is not around. Chester likes to party though, and Brad is too straight edge to hang out with the guys Chester lets loose with. Or was, since they go out together almost every night. Brad doesn't look out of place among all the hard, tattooed men anymore, although everyday he gets thinner. After they come back, when everyone else is asleep, Dave lies in his bunk and pretends not to hear Chester's desperate gasping or Brad's low, amused murmurs.

"You should eat more," Dave says once, tracing his hand down Brad's prominent ribs. Lying on the floor of another nameless motel room, sweat and blood and come between them but Dave could be talking to a stranger for all he knows Brad now.

Brad just snorts. "Fuck you, Dave. Go tell Chester that. He's the one with the weight problem."

"No. Not anymore." Chester's filled out, even more than before the stabbing. He's always eating and drinking, and Dave thinks that if everyone hadn't been so used to Chester being thin they might realize that he wasn't.

"Yeah. Whatever man."

 

[26.]  
Time slides by like it does when you're on tour, slippery and insubstantial except for the hours onstage, when every second is felt through the beat in your veins. Rob doesn't speak to him and Joe doesn't try. They play shit towns all over the mid-west, and every night Joe gets more exasperated and more tired and more sick of everything.

He drinks too much and he sulks and none of it is fun, and he's starting to forget a time when it was, when it was worth it. Most nights he goes out, and Dave joins him, as far away from civilization as they can get, on some empty hill that he tries to find or an abandoned junkyard. Anyplace that's quiet, and they sit and they watch as their breath crystallizes in the air and they don't talk. Mostly they shiver and they drink cheap whiskey to try to keep warm.

Sometimes, their legs brush against one another, or their fingers touch when handing over the bottle, and Joe thinks about missed opportunities and the name he remembers now that was on his lips when he was with Rob, but then the moment passes and he tries not to think at all.

 

[27.]  
It doesn't happen on the next stop of the tour, or the stop after that. It doesn't happen for so long that Dave almost forgets, if not for the gun that he can't find, even though the RV is tiny and he looks everywhere.

One of Chester's old friends drops by, and Chester decides to take him out for dinner. Alone. "He's just a guy I knew once," he says cheerfully. Then he's pushing a scowling Brad up against the RV and they're kissing, Brad's fist bunched up against Chester's shirt and Chester's fingers sliding inside his jeans. Dave stares until he knows that they'll fuck and not care if anyone sees them, then he makes himself walk away.

Later, Brad comes over and he says, "Let's go." His cheeks are pink and his eyes glitter, but his smile is brittle and sharp.

Dave shakes his head no. "I'm tired. I don't want to go anywhere."

But Brad insists, until Dave says, "But only if Joe goes with us," and he doesn't think that Joe will go but Joe just shrugs and says yes. He drags them to a warehouse that looks to be in a worse neighborhood than the one Brad bought the gun at. The music is loud and pulsing, and the purple strobe lights make his eyes hurt. Everyone is either drunk or high or getting there, but Dave is more afraid that the building will fall down or the cops will show up than anything else.

He doesn't remember exactly how they got into the parking lot. One minute Brad's pouring some drink that tasted like gasoline mixed with coconut down Dave's throat and licking up whatever spilled out his mouth, the next it's quiet and dark and they they're surrounded by scary men that smell bad and seem very angry with them. Maybe in part because Brad is mouthing off rudely.

Dave ducks as a fist swings towards him. Not fast enough, it catches him on the side of his head and his legs give out under him. It shouldn't hurt so much, but it does. He's sure he's gone blind for a moment, but he's just trying to see through blood. After that, it's mostly just him trying to curl up into a ball to fend off kicks. He can hear screaming and yelling and grunting and he hopes Joe and Brad are doing better than he is.

Then there's a loud 'Boom!', and Dave goes deaf. The kicking stops, but it takes him a while to realize that. He rubs at his eyes and raises his head cautiously to a world gone dizzy and red. Brad on the ground with his shirt red and getting redder. Dave tries to get up, but he manages to get up on his hands before he falls down again. The tar is warm and stick, and it seems like a good place to just lie down for a while and maybe sleep. But someone is tugging at his clothes and he can't hear but he looks up and there's Joe, face frantic, worried and bruised. He mouths, something. "Come on, Dave. Get up. We have to go."

"Okay, okay Joe." Slurry. His tongue is like cotton in his mouth and he can taste blood at the back of his throat. Joe helps him to his feet, and Dave is pleased when Joe lets go and he only staggers a little. "We have to...go. Yeah. Oh God, Brad." He can see Brad's gun, black metal and cold silver, next to the ground. Footsteps, running away from them, and he knows they won't be back.

He spends too much of his time throwing up, nowadays. After he wipes his mouth, he helps Joe get Brad up. Brad's blood is sharp and hot and Dave remembers this, so long ago. He collapses into the back seat next to Brad as Joe drives off, and this is the second time that one of their rentals is being stained by blood.

It takes forever to reach the hospital, and Brad is pale and drawn and bleeding, and Brad is pale and drawn and bleeding, and he clutches at Dave's hand like a lifeline, and Dave doesn't have anything to cling to. "I'm so sorry," he whispers to Brad, over and over, unsure what he's apologizing for. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Joe reaches out one hand to touch Dave's face as they pull into the hospital driveway, and Dave just shakes his head, and holds Brad tight.

"I'm sorry," he says.

 

_[ For a while ]  
I was ridin' by  
Ridin' along till you lost me  
Till you lost me in the rear view  
You lost me  
Way up north I took my day  
All in all was a pretty nice  
Day and I put the hood  
Right back where  
You could taste heaven perfectly  
Feel out the summer breeze  
Didn't know when we'd be back  
And I don't  
Didn't think  
We'd end up like  
Like this_


End file.
